EllRay Jakes Is Not a Chicken (11 page)

“Oh, sorry. This is Jared Matthews,” I tell her, making the introduction. “He's in my class at school. This is my little sister Alfleta,” I say to Jared, introducing Alfie politely—just in case Mom and Dad are listening, which I'm sure they are. “It means ‘
beautiful elf,
'” I explain.

“Hi,” Jared mumbles to Alfie.

Alfie scowls. “EllWay told me about you one time,” she says to Jared. “He said you were the meanest boy in his class.”

“
Alfleta
,” Mom scolds from the front seat. “That's enough. Behave yourself.”

“That's okay, Mrs. Jakes,” Jared says. What a kiss-up!

“She didn't mean it, Mom,” I fib.

“I did too mean it,” Alfie objects loudly. “EllWay and me decided that boy is just as bad as Suzette.” I can tell that Jared does not like being compared to a girl, but there's not much he can do about it.

“I thought you and Suzette were friends again,” I say to Alfie.

“Oh yeah,” she says, remembering. “But maybe not next week.”

“Well, that's kind of like Jared and me,” I say, hoping to shut her up. “We're okay now.”

Temporarily, at least.

“All wight,” she says, accepting this.

Jared and I look at each other for a second, but we don't say anything until my dad is on the freeway heading north, and Alfie has gone back to sucking her thumb and twiddling the end of a soft black braid. She stares dreamily out the car window at the hills racing by. She is nearly asleep.

“I know you didn't want me to come,” Jared growls, keeping his voice low.

I think hard for a couple of minutes about what to tell him, because if I lie and say that I'm really happy he's here, maybe he will leave me alone for the rest of the year. Or for a few weeks, anyway,

Or I can tell him the truth and take my chances.

“Not really,” I finally admit.

“Well, I didn't even
want
to come, when they told me this morning,” Jared whispers gruffly. “So don't think you're doing me any favors. I don't owe you, EllRay.”

“Everything all right back there?” Dad asks, glancing at us in his rearview mirror.

“Everything's fine,” I report. “Alfie's asleep, and we're just talking quietly.”

After Dad gets busy driving again, Jared and I exchange glares. “I'm glad Stanley told,” he mutters, his voice even quieter than before. “That's why all those kids came running to the park yesterday. They wanted to see you get it, EllRay.”

“They did not,” I tell him, also keeping my voice low. “They didn't care
what
they saw, as long as it was something exciting, for a change. And anyway, maybe Stanley told because he likes to do stuff behind your back. And all those kids saw was
you
, getting a bloody nose. Even Heather Patton saw it,” I remind him. “
You're welcome
,” I add, trying for a little sarcasm.

My heart is thunking so hard in my chest that I can practically see it through my San Diego Padres T-shirt, the one Jared wishes he had, but at least I am defending myself again.

I think the days of me washing my hands for no reason are over.

Jared scowls, but he doesn't say anything more.

This is going to be some weird treat, that's for sure. My stomach is doing flip-flops already—and not the good, scary-ride kind.

Great plan, grown-ups! Just when most of the bad feelings between Jared and me were over
because
of our fight, which we both won, in a way, you went and made things worse by trying to make us have fun together.

Thanks a
lot
.

If there is one thing that no one likes about Disneyland, I remember about twenty minutes after we first walk down Main Street, it is the lines you have to wait in to get on the rides.

Long, boring, zigzagging lines.

Then, when you finally, finally get to the front of the line, all of a sudden there is a crazy scramble to jump on the ride, and then
WHOOSH
, the ride is over.

The
whoosh
part can be really fun, though—even when Jared Matthews is sitting there next to you like a tree stump, which sometimes happens because of the crazy scramble part.

Of course, Mom and Dad were probably planning on Jared going with me on every single ride. They probably imagined that we would slowly learn to like each other, and maybe even become friends, but even parents can't argue when the official ride people shoo you onto a ride when it's finally your turn. Not when there are a thousand people in line behind you.

As the morning goes on, though, even I have to admit that the invisible coating of ice that has been covering both Jared and me—like the candy coating on an M&M—is beginning to melt a little.

But then, just after lunch, “I want Minnie ears,” Alfie starts whining after we have been in line for twenty minutes for the pirates ride, and Jared and I exchange worried looks.

“She has a meltdown every afternoon,” I tell Jared gloomily. “She still takes naps, that's the thing.”

“Who are you talking about?” Alfie asks, sounding suspicious.

“You stay in line,” Dad tells Jared, Mom, and me. “I'll take Alfie and go find a Minnie hat.”

“No, Warren,” Mom says. “We'll all go with you. We have to stick together, or someone's going to get lost.”

But it's
Disneyland
, I want to tell them as we get ready to lose our very good place in line. How bad could it be if a very-mature-for-his-age kid, like me, got lost? I could live here forever!

“I have an idea, Louise,” Dad says. “I think EllRay and Jared can be on their own for a while, if they promise to stick together. We could try it for an hour, maybe, and see how it goes.”

We get to be alone?
In Disneyland?
I can hardly believe what I am hearing!

Even Jared is looking excited.

“I don't know,” Mom says, looking worried.

“You could lend EllRay your cell phone,” Dad suggests gently. “He'll call me on my cell every fifteen minutes to check in.”

I'd call every minute if he asked me to!

Jared and I both hold our breath.

“Well, okay,” Mom finally agrees as Alfie starts to tug her away from the line. “Here's my phone, EllRay.
Don't lose it
.”

Mom's cell phone is yellow, sparkly, and very girly, which is embarrassing, but I slip it into my deepest pocket and swap excited, happy glances with Jared, my temporary friend.

“We'll meet here in exactly one hour,” Dad says, tapping his watch.

“Okay,” I tell him.

“Okay,” Jared mumbles happily.

And we're off!

Being at Disneyland with Jared wasn't so bad, I think sleepily on the way home. In fact, I don't want to exaggerate or anything, but it was really, really fun.

There were no wedgies, no playing keep-away, no knuckle-grinding, no nothing.

And even though something bad will probably happen again next week, especially when the grown-ups hear about the fight at Eustace B. Pennypacker Memorial Park, a fight that to Jared and me is old news, things are okay for now.

And that's good enough for me!

On Monday night before bed, as my mom is giving Alfie her usual three-towel bath, I wander into Dad's home office to look around—because I kind of miss him.

Also, I usually don't get to go in there unless I'm in trouble.

Even though almost anyone would think that being a geology professor is boring, my dad's office is pretty cool. The wall opposite his desk is completely covered with wood shelves that are so narrow an apple would feel fat sitting there. All my dad's favorite small rock specimens are on these shelves, and each one is carefully labeled. The rocks are from all over the world—Asia, South America, North America—and he collected each specimen himself.

My dad has been
everywhere
.

My favorite shelves are the ones nearest the window, because those hold the crystals. Dad put the crystals there so that sunlight will shine on them first thing in the morning. He says it's a nice way to start the day.

Crystals grow on or in rocks, and they are like diamonds, only better—because they're much bigger, and they come in so many different colors: blue, green, red, orange, and yellow. Even the gray and brown crystals are awesome, not to mention the clear ones that are like ice that never melts.

And crystals look like somebody carved them, only they grew that way! Nature was the carver.